


Boy Alone

by gaylock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Abused Harry Potter, Abusive Dursley Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Dudley Dursley is a sploilt brat, Foster child Harry, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hedwig is a stuffed toy, Hogwarts is a dream, Neglect, Neglected Harry, Orphan Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Tom Riddle is a phsycopath, Triggers, Vernon Dursley Being an Asshole, Young Tom Riddle, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:58:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylock/pseuds/gaylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do not own the characters, blah blah blah, they are the property of JK Rowling. The plot however, is completely mine. Enjoy.</p></blockquote>





	1. The Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the characters, blah blah blah, they are the property of JK Rowling. The plot however, is completely mine. Enjoy.

 

He was nearly two years old when his parents died in a tragic car accident. Sitting in the back seat, belted into his car seat, Harry Potter sat wide awake, staring out the window at the passing cars. His mum sat in the seat in front of him, and his father in the driver's seat. Harry knew that if he leaned forwards, just a little bit, he would be able to wrap a piece of his mum's long, red hair around his finger. And if he was to move just a tiny bit to the right, he would be able to smile at his dad in the rearview mirror, and he knew his dad would smile right back. But little Harry Potter didn't do either of those things. Instead, he sat very still, with only his startlingly green eyes moving and stared fixedly out the car window beside him.

"I don't care if it was just one time, James! You need to tell Peter and Black and all your other stupid friends **_no."_** Lily Evans yelled at the man beside her.

The man turned to look at her angrily. "That is so unfair, Lils! Just because _you_ don't like them doesn't mean-"

The red head reached a slim hand across the car to smack him. "Yes, it does! You have a son to think about now, James Potter, and if you think that for even one second I'm going to let you get away with shit like that, then think again."

"It's not a big deal! I didn't even lose any money, honestly, I don't see the problem, it's just-"

The woman turned to look at her fiance, the rage clear in her green eyes. _"You don't see the problem?"_ Her eyes flashed.

Harry tried not to listen to his parent's fight, but it was impossible to not hear them screaming at each other from only two feet away.

"Mummy?" he said quietly, his eyes still fixated on the passing vehicles outside.

Lily turned to glance at her son, a distracted smile stretching her lips. "Not now, sweetheart, Mummy and Daddy are chatting." She turned back to James and a scowl replaced the smile. "Now, _where was I?"_

Harry finally took his eyes off of the road and reached forwards to tug on his mum's hair. "Mummy!"

Lily sighed and turned back again. " _What?_ What is it, darling?"

Harry turned back to the window and pointed. "Car," he said.

Lily rolled her eyes. " _Yes_ darling, I know. Lot's of cars."

Harry shook his head and pointed again, his tiny finger hitting the glass. "No, _car!"_ His eyes were wide, and his voice frantic.

Lily frowned and turned to look out of the window beside her. "Harry, it's just a car, I don't see why- _James!"_ Her voice shouted out just as the truck sped through the intersection towards them. James reacted with a jolt, and in his panic, he turned the wheel madly, spinning the car around and around. Both James and Lily were screaming as the truck crashed into their car and sent them flying. Harry, his eyes open wide and his hands grabbing at anything they could reach, watched as if in slow motion as the truck hit the car head on. He saw the glass crack, crumble, and go flying in all directions, saw his parent's bodies jolt forwards sharply, their necks bent and their heads slamming down onto their chests. So avidly was Harry watching, that he was barely conscious of the sharp jolt which rocked his tiny body inside the car seat.

Like his parents, Harry's head bent forwards on impact. Unlike his parents however, he was able to raise his head back up afterwards. "Mummy?" His voice was quiet, his throat sore and his vision swam with the effort to stay awake. He twisted in his carseat, trying desperately to see his parents faces. Car horns were blaring outside, and he could hear sirens wailing in the distance. He could smell smoke and feel the blood dripping down his cheek from his forehead. Harry wimpered; _Mummy isn't answering, why isn't she answering?_ His right hand was fisted around his mother's long red hair, and as his vision began to darken once again, Harry tugged sharply on the strands in a desperate attempt to wake his mother.

 _Please,_ he thought, tears streaming down his face as his eyes shut slowly. _Mummy, please._

Later when he was finally pulled from the smoking wreckage, the paramedics had to cut Lily Evans's hair, so tight was her son's grip.


	2. The Orphanage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for the Latin used in this chapter can be found in the endnotes. It isn't perfect Latin, as I used google translate, but it's basically correct. I took some of it from Bible passages, as Tom is kinda portrayed here as a religious fanatic. I don't own anything from the Bible, or JK Rowling, etc etc etc.

"Hullo, Colin."

"Oh, h-hey, T-tom..."

He was five years old and the world was too loud. Everyone was yelling, everyone was mad, everyone was always so angry. He felt like screaming until it stopped but knew he never would. _They would get angry,_ he thought,  _if I yelled too._ He sighed and curled up underneath the comforter on his cot in the corner. The orphanage was small and under-funded, but it was the only home Harry had. He couldn't even remember much of his first home, could only see the shining happiness in his mother's eyes, and hear his father's low voice. He closed his eyes and held the tiny locket that he wore around his neck close, knowing that the few strands of red hair inside were the only thing that still tied him to his parents.

The voices from outside the room got louder. "Want to play a game with me?"

Colin Creevey's voice shook. "That's o-okay T-Tom, you w-w-wouldn't w-want to play w-with me an-nyways..."

Harry clutched the blanket hard and tried to breath slowly. The voices of the other boys grew louder and angrier, and he knew that anger meant _bad_ and loud meant really bad. The care-takers were vigilant, but there were only so many, and more often than not they didn't realise what was going on just under their noses. Because in a place like this one, Harry knew, the bigger and meaner and stronger you were, the better of you were. And Harry was small, and young, and easily frightened. He still suffered from pain in his scar, and he still had nightmares about the accident. These things made him weak in the eyes of the other boys, and so he became the chosen target. Boys like Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, they picked on him every now and then. They would tease him and nock him around. Sometimes, if they were really bored, they would even take his food and make him go hungry.

But it was Tom who was the real bully. Only eight years old, Tom had already been placed in more than five foster homes. One of them even lasted more than a year; but for some reason or another, he was always returned. He wasn't the eldest, or the strongest, or even the biggest; and yet, it became immediately clear to Harry that he was the leader. Tom, with his pale skin and slim build, his big brown eyes that did innocence so well, was a snake inside a boy's body. He would smile at you on moment, and then have you hanging upside down outside of the highest window in the next. He could charm any adult with his smile, but the minute their back was turned he would not hesitate to pull your arm so far back that it would break.

No, Tom Riddle was not the largest or strongest or eldest of the boys at Saint Mary's Orphanage, but he was by far the cruelest. Harry hid himself as fully as he could underneath his blankets, trying to hold his body still as the boys burst into the room.

"Please Tom, _p-please_ don't..." Colin's voice shook badly, and Harry watched through a small hole in his blanket as Tom advanced slowly with a smile on his face. Colin was about the same age as Harry, but much slower. He was a bit overweight, and as such couldn't move as fast.

Tom took every opportunity to take advantage of that fact. "I have to, Colin. Don't you see? You're impure the way you are, like a _disease_ that's spreading. You need to be _fixed."_ His voice was soft and hard, like the scales of a snake. Harry held his breath and watched the way the light glinted off of Tom's eyes, turning them almost red in the instant before he lunged forwards and grabbed Colin around the neck. "I have to purify you, like I did your idiot brother."

Colin stopped struggling, his eyes wide and his mouth open. "Dennis? You- _What did you do to Dennis?"_ Colin's voice was shrill and breathy, and his arms came up to try and remove the hand blocking his windpipe. Harry shuddered silently where he was hiding, and his eyes shut tight in a desperate attempt to drown out what was happening just in front of him.

_It's not real, it's just a dream,_ he thought to himself. _Tom didn't do anything to Dennis, he fell into the ocean and drowned, Tom didn't do that, he wouldn't, he-_

Tom's laugh pierced his thoughts. "He got what he deserved, being as impure as he was. It was the only thing for him, I'm afraid. Thankfully I made sure to purify him as best I could before I killed him." Colin spluttered and tried once again to remove Tom's hand from his throat. Tom only smiled and squeezed harder. "Really, you should be thanking me! I'm going to do the same for you, after all." Tom's smile widened and he began to chant quietly in Latin.

_"Manus testium prima interficiet eum, interficiet eum, et postea omnis populus mittat manum. Et auferes malum de medio tui."_

Harry's eyes opened of their own violition and he barely held in a whimper as he watched the scene unfolding before him. The sunlight from the small window in the corner seemed to glint off of the brown eyes of the manic boy, keeping them a steady shade of dark crimson.

"Only in death may there be purity, only in death may the abominations find peace. Forgiveness may be given on the doorway to darkness, by he who holds the power in his hands. _Ego dominus vitae heres deus, et abominationem hanc veniam. Castitate benedixi ei, et benedicant eum in spe. Iter mors inveniat."_

Colin's face went from red to purple, before his eyes closed and his struggling body began to go slack. Tom removed his hand from the boy's throat and laid him down gently, a regretful look upon his face like he was mourning the boy he had just killed. _"Hæc sunt mandata mea, et ne polluamini in aliquam quae ante vos, et ne polluamini in eis; Ego sum Dominus Deus vester,"_ he said quietly, using one hand to smooth down Colin's shirt. He took the silver cross necklace he always wore and placed it against Colin's no longer beating heart, pressing it there for a moment, before he put it back on and stood up.

Harry kept very still as he watched Tom step towards the window and look outside at the empty courtyard far below. The fading sunlight seemed to create a halo around his head, turning his body golden and making it seem to Harry that he shone with an inner light. It seemed to Harry in that moment that he really was a god, here to keep the world pure.

The illusion was shattered, however, when Tom turned back around with a sick smile on his face and hauled the dead boy up into his arms, before pushing him out of the window. Harry felt a frightened scream bubbling inside of him, and clapped a hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle it. He watched Tom leave the room, before he slowly moved towards the window and glanced down at the sprawled out body in the empty courtyard. He could see the way Colin's legs were twisted unnaturally, and his neck was bent at too sharp of an angle. Colin's face shone like Tom's had done only moments before, as if with an inner light. His white shirt seemed whiter than a poor orphans shirt had any right to be, and it seemed to Harry that he had been transfigured in some way, as if Tom's demonic and hellish ritual, his horrific murder of this poor boy had in fact been the work of Godly principles and beauty that Tom claimed. Harry shuddered and stood there a moment longer, watching the sunlight fade completely until the boy was no longer visible so far down.

Colin Creevey was discovered the next morning by the morning care-takers, and it was presumed that he had jumped from the roof in his grief over his brother's death only weeks before. Harry stood with the other boy's his age at the buriel service held the next day, and all it took was one look at Tom's hidden smile and shining reddish eyes to know that he would stay silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st Latin phrase: The hands of the witnesses shall be the first in denying him, he shall slay him, and afterwards the hand of all the people. I will purge the evil from my midst
> 
> 2nd Latin phrase: I am the Lord of life, the heir of God, and that this abomination hath come to me for purity, I bless him, and to bless him, in the hope of peace. March to death finds safety in God's light
> 
> 3rd Latin phrase: Thus you are to keep my charge, that you do not practice any of the abominable customs which have been practiced before you, so as not to defile yourselves with them; I am the lord your God


	3. The House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the Dursleys, or any of the other characters/settings which come from JK Rowling's series. I own only the plot, which I hope you are enjoying, dark though it may be.

Harry was seven years old when he was moved into a Foster home for the first time. A couple had come to the orphanage, looking for a young boy the same age as their son, and Harry had been placed before them immediately, as he was the only one left who was still seven years old. The woman, Petunia Dursley, examined him contemptously, before stating that he would be adequate and leaving her husband to sign the necessary papers. 

Vernon Dursley, a huge monstrosity of a man with a large mustache, grumbled and muttered under his breath while he wrote his signature down, and then took his own turn at examining Harry. For his part, Harry stood still and silent, his hands behind his back and his eyes cast downwards politely. Vernon circled him slowly, his stomach potruding obscenely from the waistband of his trousers, and Harry had to force his eyes back towards the ground so as not to seem like he was staring. 

"He'll do, he'll do indeed." Vernon's voice was as unpleasant as his appearance, and it was all Harry could do not to make a face of displeasure as the man's breath flooded his senses with the smell of stale cigars and old coffee. He waited patiently until he was dismissed, nodding as politely as possible towards the couple before turning to go back to his room.

"Petunia darling, what do you think? Will Dudley like him?" Vernon's booming voice rang out as Harry exited, talking about him like he wasn't even there. Harry sighed and continued on; adults did that sort of thing all the time, especially with children they didn't know or like, and he was used to it by now.

"Well," came Petunia's slow reply. "He _is_ a bit small, isn't he? Dreadfully skinny. And Dudder's does so like to play a bit rough. I'm not sure the boy'll be able to handle himself." Her voice was shrill and piercing, not unlike what Harry thought the whinney of a horse might sound like.

"Ah, but did you see that scar? Boy's a fighter! Might be an even match for our little boxer, eh." Harry could practically hear the smug smile Vernon Dursley wore at the mention his son. Harry stopped to hear the rest; he needed to be prepared if the child was a fighter. More often than not, fighter's were also bullies. At the mention of his scar, Harry froze.  _If only they knew,_ he thouht,  _that it's not from a fight at all, but a car crash._ He continued on down the hallway, and had just reached his room when the sound of Petunia's voice reached his ears.

"Yes, and that's another thing I'm worried about; that _dreadful_ scar. Quite disfiguring, don't you think? What will the neighbors say?"

 

* * *

 

 

Harry sat on his cot and looked at the little bag that held all of his things. It wasn't much, since he had come to the orphanage with so little, but it was all he had. The few shirts and trousers were folded carefully and placed at the bottom of the bag, with his one book tucked neatly on top. Then came his extra pair of shoes and his winter coat. Instead of putting his necklace inside the bag, he tucked it into his collar, where the little heart locket rested against his chest, the long strands of his mother's red hair still inside.

Harry didn't bother to say goodbye to the other boys; he knew they wouldn't care, and he didn't have any friends anyways. He just held his bag in his hands and walked down the stairs towards the front door, where the Dursley's would be arriving any minute to come and take him away to their little house on the outskirts of London in Surrey. Harry stood next to the door quietly and watched as the care-takers bustled around, preparing for the upcoming meal and the arrival of the guests. Harry had just decided to wait outside instead, so he would be out of the way, when the eldest of the care-takers, Madam Minerva came rushing down the stairs towards him. The elderly woman came to a stop, her black hair pulled tight against the back of her head in her signature bun. She wore one of her tartan ensembles, and peered through her rectangular spectacles at him with a fond look in her eyes.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it seems this is goodbye." Her voice was warm as she knelt down in front of him.

Harry's eyes watered slightly, and he wiped them roughly with his hands. "I'll come and visit you, when I'm older," he whispered as she hugged him gently. "I promise."

She smiled and let him go, standing up slowly and taking a step backwards. "I'll hold you to that, Harry." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small stuffed owl, white like snow and with eyes like two moons. She handed it to him and took another step backwards; her eyes grew misty and she cleared her thoat. "Take this, as a reminder and a comfort. Her name is Hedwig, and she will protect you."

Harry took a deep breath and smiled back. "Thank you." He cradled the stuffed toy against his chest. He could hear the car of the Dursley's pull up into the drive outside, and he knew it was time for him to leave. "Goodbye," he said, taking the last few steps to the door and pulling it open. He glanced over his shoulder at the care-taker once more, and squeezed the owl hard.

She became more formal as she composed herself in that moment, and her voice was stiff when she said, "Goodbye and goodluck, Mr. Potter." She turned on her heel and marched back up the stairs abruptly. Harry wasn't perturbed though; he had seen the look in her eyes, had noticed the slow tear on her cheek, and knew that he would be missed by at least one person. _At least it's something,_ he thought to himself as he closed the door to St. Mary's Orphanage behind him for the last time and walked slowly down the steps to the awaiting car and couple below. He clutched the stuffed owl more tightly against himself as he entered the car and buckled up his seat belt.

"So, boy, let's start with the basics! What's your name?" Vernon Dursley boomed out as they merged with traffic and sped away from the orphanage.

_Honestly,_ Harry thought.  _The least they could have done was remembered my **name**. _ "My name is Harry, sir." His voice was rather meek in comparison to Vernon's loud one, although Harry supposed most peoples voices sounded meek and small when compared to Dursley's.

"Harry, eh? That short for Harrold? Had an uncle named Harrold, rather nice fellow."

Harry shook his head slightly. "No sir, not that I know of. Just Harry."

Vernon glanced back at him for a moment. "No? Pity that, Harrold is a fine, strong name. Isn't it, Petunia?"

Petunia nodded at her husband, said a quiet, _"Yes, dear,"_ and took the chance to look back at Harry as well. "Is that a stuffed bear you've got there, Harry?" she asked sweetly, and Harry tried not to frown in distaste at how shrill and obnoxious her voice was. "How lovely, our Dudder's loves stuffed bears. What's it's name?"

Harry held Hedwig closer to himself as if protecting it from Petunia and her questions. "It's an owl, Ma'am. And her name's Hedwig." He swallowed tightly at the look his answer recieved.  _Was I not polite enough?_ he thought desperately.  _Does she want me to call her Miss, instead of Ma'am?_

"Hmmm. An owl? Vernon, is that normal, for a stuffed toy I mean?" Petunia turned back to her husband and spoke as if Harry were not present, or as if he were not able to understand what they were saying.

"They have all sorts of stuffed toys nowadays, Petunia. Why, just the other day our precious Dudder's asked if he could have a stuffed dragon!"

Petunia sounded outraged at the suggestion of something so atypical. "A dragon! My word, where on earth did he get an unwholesome idea like that from?"

Vernon's brows drew down and his eyes grew dark with anger. "I reckon it was that Figg woman you asked to babysit the other week. Strange woman, wouldn't you say?"

"Arabella?" Petunia sounded incredulous. "But Arabella came highly recommended by Mrs. Houston down the street! I wouldn't have thought..." She shuddered theatrically and clutched at her husbands arm as he pulled into the driveway of a little house in the center of a row of nearly identical little houses.

Vernon shuddered along with her as he turned the car off. "You never know where they're lurking, the freaks. You're not to blame, don't worry darling, you couldn't have known." He patted her arm gently before turning back to look at Harry. "Well, boy! Go on, get inside!" he roared loudly, his mustache quivering above his upper lip. Harry jumped up and was out of the car in an instant, holding his things and walking as quickly as possible towards the front door. His body was shaking slightly as Vernon and Petnunia came towards him, and he waited for Vernon to unlock the door before moving into the front hall and stepping to the side. He pressed his back against the wall and waited to be told what to do by his new gaurdians.

"Shoes off!" Pentunia said sharply, and Harry removed his shoes and placed them beside the door. Vernon had dissapeared into the house, but Petunia stood there still, watching him like a hawk. Harry stood awkwardly in front of her and waited for the next order.

"Hands!" she ordered, grabbing his hands and examining them closely. "Must make sure you're clean before you put your grubby little hands all over our nice furniture," she muttered under her breath, before dropping his hands and standing up straight once more. "What did you bring with you, other than that stuffed toy?" 

Harry slowly held out his bag. "Just my other shoes, winter coat and two pairs of trousers and my two shirts, Ma'am. And then my best church clothes as well." His arm trembled a bit, but he continued to hold the bag out for her inspection. "And the one book that the care-takers said I was allowed to take. That's all, Ma'am."

Petunia sniffed and nodded. "Well then, let's show you to your new room, and I don't want to hear a peep from you until I call you down to meet Dudley once he gets back from a friends house, understand?" She glared at him as she began to walk towards the staircase that lead to the second floor.

Harry nodded and followed behind her. "Yes, Ma'am. Not a word."

Petunia nodded and pushed open the door at the end of the upstairs hall. " The clothing inside the dresser is Dudley's old stuff, it should fit you. The toys are Dudleys, but you can read the books as long as you put them away afterwards! I don't want to find anything missing or broken." Harry's eyes were wide as he looked at her and nodded.

"No, Ma'am, I promise."

She glared down at him and sighed as if even this small interaction was becoming too taxing for her. "Inside, then! I don't have all day!" She shut the door behind him the moment he had stepped inside, and Harry could hear her heels clicking quickly down the stairs as she decended. He stepped further into the small room, and looked around in awe at the shelves of toys and books, and the bed with the dresser beside it. He moved to sit down on the bed, and looked around at his new home. He placed his bag down beside him and hugged his knees to his chest, Hedwig perched on top of them with her big yellow moon eyes staring into his green ones.

"Welcome home, Hedwig."


	4. The Dursley's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters, and the idea for this scene came from the books as well, so I don't own that either. I make no profit from this story (would that I could) although I do gain a little bit of self-worth and satisfaction from every hit, comment, kudos and favourite. 
> 
> WARNING: child abuse and major violence in this chapter. Just thought I ought to warn you, incase you disregarded the tags above.

"Marge, come in! Splendid!" Vernon's booming voice rung out as he ushered his sister into the house. Marge Dursley, a large woman of similar appearance to her brother, walked heavily into the kitchen with a mean looking rottweiler trailing behind her.

"Vernon, Petunia! Where's my little nephew?"

Petunia dragged her son into the room and pushed him towards Marge. "Say hello to your aunt, Diddykins!"

Dudley stared up at his aunt with piggish eyes. "Where's my present?" he demanded rudely, and Marge laughed.

"That's it, Dudley! Nice and strong, know what you want! Yes, just like your father, aren't you?" Marge handed over a couple of large parcels and patted Dudley on the cheek. "Vernon, haven't I always said how much like you your boy is?"

Vernon Dursley puffed up with pride and placed a meaty hand on his sons equally meaty shoulder. "Quite right, quite right. Now then! Why don't we go sit in the dining room, and enjoy some cake, eh?" He smiled and led his sister and son into the dining room, where Petunia was already waiting. The table was set and Dudley was handed a special birthday hat before they all sat down at the table. "Boy!" Vernon shouted up to Harry's room, his voice loud and angry. "Get down here, boy, and bring out the cake!"

Harry rushed down the stairs, trying not to trip. "Coming, sir! The cake will be right there!" He ran into the kitchen to pick up the large chocolate cake sitting on the counter. He struggled a little with lifting it, his thin arms barely able to hold the heavy concoction up, but finally he managed to lift it off the countertop. He walked slowly towards the dining room doorway, doing his best not to let the tray tip even the slightest. 

"Where's the cake? I want my cake!" Dudley whined impatiently, banging his fork against the tabletop obnoxiously. Petunia shushed her son and glanced about frantically.

"Don't worry, Diddykins, Mummy will make sure you get the biggest piece, alright? You just have to wait one more moment, and the -,"

"I don't want to wait one more moment! I want my cake NOW!" Dudley screamed, tossing his cutlery across the table and tipping his plate over in his tantrum.

Petunia jumped and rushed over to her son, frantically trying to soothe him. Vernon's face was going a dark, ugly shade of puce, and his mustache was quivering above his mouth like it was alive. 

"BOY! Bring that cake in here this instant!" He roared, and Harry cringed, making himself move a little bit faster. He could feel his arms sagging under the weight, and knew that he needed to put it down soon, or else he would end up dropping it.

He was stepping into the dining room at last and was just about to place the cake down onto the table, when Marge's dog lunged at him, knocking him backward. He flailed his arms and legs, and the cake ended up tipping off of the tray and sailing through the air. Harry's eyes were wide and fearful as he fell backward; he watched as the cake flipped over and landed atop Marge's head. He fell to the floor with a bang just as the chocolate icing was sliding down her face and into her lap with an audible 'plop'. In the split second before anybody reacted, Harry closed his eyes and froze. _Why did this have to happen? Why?_

Then sound seemed to return, and Vernon was shouting, Dudley was wailing and Petunia was shrieking, all of them at the top of their lungs. Vernon jumped out of his seat suddenly, his face red and the vein in his temple pulsating madly with his anger. Harry scrambled up as he stomped over to him, and only had a moment to take a breath before Vernon's hand grabbed him by the throat and picked him up roughly.

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID, YOU USELESS BOY!" He roared in Harry's face, shaking him and tossing him onto the floor. Harry retched and coughed, sprawled out on the tiles as he was, a hand coming up to touch his bruised throat. He looked up and scrambled backwards as Vernon advanced, and made a mad dash for the stairs. He was jerked backward by his hair, and Vernon picked him up and tossed him onto the ground as hard as he could. Harry let out a small cry when he felt his back hit the wooden floor and closed his eyes. 

"WE LET YOU INTO OUR HOME, GIVE YOU EVERY DAMN THING WE CAN, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?" Vernon was screaming so loudly that it made Harry's ears ring. He was picked up by his throat and pushed backward against the stairs, and Harry opened his eyes widely in fright, his small hands lifting up toward his neck to try and pry Vernon's hands off.

"WE SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU THERE TO ROT! I KNEW GETTING SUCH AN UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BASTARD WOULD DO US NO GOOD!"

Harry shut his eyes and tried to preserve what little air was still in his lungs, but he could feel his head growing lighter and little black spots were beginning to cloud his vision. Finally after what seemed like forever, Vernon removed his hands and stepped backward. Harry took in huge gulping breaths of air, before coughing violently as he prodded gently at the large bruise forming around his windpipe.

"Get out of my sight! I don't want to bloody see or hear you for the rest of the goddammed day, do you understand?" The words were snarled at Harry from the kitchen, where both Vernon and Petunia were trying their best to help Marge get cleaned up. 

"Yes, sir," he whispered, walking up the stairs backward, not daring to turn his back when Vernon was in such a terrible mood. 

A little while later, Harry watched from the middle of the stairway, a blanket wrapped around his narrow shoulders and a hand rubbing his throat gently. Down below, just barely visible from where he knelt, was the pile of neatly wrapped presents for Dudley's ninth birthday. He watched as Dudley sat with his parents and his aunt Marge, and tore off wrapping paper carelessly, not bothering to take his time or thank anyone for what he got.

Hedwig sat on the floor beside him, and he picked her up gently, hugging her to his chest. His lips trembled slightly, and he turned his back on the scene below, walking as quietly as was possible to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, Hedwig clutched in his hands and blinked furiously.

"I wonder what heaven is like," he said to Hedwig quietly, laying down and staring at the wall. "I bet it's quiet there. And nice. I bet nobody ever hurts anyone else." _What would the world be like, if it was quiet?_ he wondered. _Peaceful,_ Hedwig seemed to say. _It would be beautiful._ Harry shut his eyes and dreamed of a peaceful world, where Hedwig was always with him and nobody yelled and nobody ever got hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That'll be the last of the violent abuse we see, but there will be some referenced past!abuse in later chapters, as well as neglect and non-violent child abuse. Consider yourself warned.


	5. The Cupboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we see the famous Cupboard! I do not own the characters or the scenery; I do, however, own the plot! I hope you enjoy this, despite the terrible darkness this chapter (and truthfully this entire story) encompasses. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Child abuse, neglect, mentions of self-harm

Dudley was eleven when Petunia and Vernon sent him away to a boarding school called Smeltings. According to Vernon, it was the same school he had attended when he had been a boy. Harry was left in Privet Drive on the day the Dursley's all drove to the train station to send off Dudley, and he watched from Arabella Figg's sitting room window as the car pulled out of the driveway. The moment they were gone, Harry snuck out, leaving Mrs. Figg to the company of her cats. He knew the Dursley's would not be gone forever, and wanted to spend as much time as possible playing before they came back. He was sitting in the centre of the living room, surrounded by various old and broken toys left behind by Dudley, when Vernon and Petunia arrived home.

Both Dursley parents were in a dreadful mood, due to the fact that they had just had to say goodbye to their beloved son for the first time, and wouldn't be seeing him until Christmas. So when Vernon Dursley saw Harry, surrounded by broken toys which he had bought for Dudley, his anger skyrocketed and he snapped.

"BOY!"

Harry scrambled up and tried his best to hide the toys behind his back. "Sorry! I'm sorry, sir! I promise I didn't do anything bad, I swear! The toys were already broken when I found them!"

His protests fell on deaf ears. And so it was, September 1st became the first day Harry Potter spent locked away inside the cupboard under the stairs. Vernon had grabbed him by the hair and dragged him through the house, and the only thing Harry had been able to hold onto before being shut inside the small space, was his stuffed toy owl, Hedwig, which he'd hidden under his baggy shirt the moment Vernon had appeared.

It may have been the first day in the cupboard, but it was hardly his last. From that day on, the world was too dark. Nobody ever opened the door, nobody ever turned on the light, and it had been forever since the sun had risen. His meals were shoved through the small grate in the door, and the only time he ever heard a sound was when one of them walked up or down the stairs above him.

Harry was eleven years old, and already he'd forgotten what sunlight felt like on his skin, forgotten the way grass smells when its been freshly cut. Slowly each and every precious memory he had was eroded away, his world narrowed down to the texture of wood around him, the soft fibres and glass eyes of his stuffed owl and the suffocating blackness. His dreams when he managed to sleep were filled with the flash of headlights and his mother's screams. He thought about the locket he'd lost so long ago (not lost, it was stolen. Tom so did love to collect things that weren't his). He tried to remember what his parents had looked like, tried to remember their voices saying his name. He couldn't even remember their names. 

He held Hedwig in one hand, her fur ragged and falling off. It didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed anymore. _Some worlds don't have suns,_ he thought. They only have darkness.

"You can be my sun, Hedwig. You are white, bright and happy. You are the only sun I need," he whispered as quietly as possible. _Yes,_ Hedwig said. _Let me be your sun._

Harry would have cried if he had any tears left. Instead he curled up around Hedwig as tightly as he could and closed his eyes. His stomach clenched in hunger and he felt empty and hollow to his very soul. 

It took him a very long time to fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and give kud! I'd really appreciate it, especially since I feel like I need some inspiration to continue this story (which is nearly finished!)


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